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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405323">Adventures in Baking: Paul Finds Bananas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveofahand/pseuds/waveofahand'>waveofahand</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dating Paul McCartney [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>McLennon - Fandom, Paul McCartney - Fandom, The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dating Paul McCartney, Domestic Fluff, F/M, He likes semi-sweets, M/M, McLennon, Paul cannot behave, Paul is very filthy, Tales from Hamburg, The bananas have gone bad so you're baking banana bread with Paul, You love that in him</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:02:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405323</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveofahand/pseuds/waveofahand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul wakes you up demanding breakfast because it's rainy and romantic. You end up doing something else instead. Because it's rainy and romantic. But breakfast is ruined because the bananas are bad. So you bake. And confess things you probably shouldn't. Paul is a double-entendre machine in this story. But the spectre of John Lennon seems to hang all over your morning.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Lennon &amp; Paul McCartney, Paul McCartney/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dating Paul McCartney [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646920</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Adventures in Baking: Paul Finds Bananas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40smothermeinrelish">@smothermeinrelish</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The Coronavirus quarantine had me down today, as well as all the bad news about it. Needed to cheer myself up so I wrote this. It's probably the weirdest, giddiest and most suggestive/romantic thing I've written for the "Dating Paul McCartney" series. Hope you like it! Please be kind if you don't!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>“Wake up, Sweetcakes! It’s morning!”</p><p>[You are ignoring him]</p><p>“C’mon, it’s morning! Time for Brekkie!”</p><p>“No. Sleeping. Go ‘way.”</p><p>“But I’m hungry! And it’s raining! It's romantical! Let’s have porridge!”</p><p>“Stop! You mad English mongrel! <em>Sleeping</em>.”</p><p>"Ah, yer lazy as Lennon! [You feel a lips and teeth at your neck] “Alright, we don’t need porridge. I can think of something else to nibble on for now…all warm and so sweet on a raining morning…”</p><p>[You groan because you know that he knows that you’re helpless, once he starts in like this…]</p><p>“Are you saying that if I don’t feed you, you’re just going to make a <em>romantical</em> breakfast out of me, then?”</p><p>“That’s about the size of it, darlin’, how smart of you to figure it out – oh, wait, no <em>this</em> is about the size of it!”</p><p>[Laughing. Giving in. Surrendering. You’ll do anything this boy wants, and you know that <em>he knows</em> that, too…]</p><p>***</p><p>[Later. Much later.]</p><p>“That was lovely, love.”</p><p>“It was. <em>Both</em> times. You’ve made quite a munch of me, though. Look at all of these bite marks, Paul, they’re all over me.”</p><p>[Big innocent eyes] “Where? I don’t see any bites!”</p><p>[You begin to point. To your inner thigh. Your tummy. Your waist. Elsewhere] “There. There. There. There…”</p><p>[Coyly smiling] “Oh, those aren’t <em>bites.</em> They’re just little <em>love-tenders</em>, aren’t they, now? You’ve heard of chicken tenders? They’re just me love-tenders, that’s all. Like <em>Love Me Tenders</em>, yea?"</p><p>“Good try, babe, but these are <em>bites</em>. Very clearly you bit and suckled and then did it some more. All over me. Like a rabid bunny.”</p><p>[Looking sad] “Ah, don’t call ‘em that. You sound too much like John. And I <em>did</em> tell you I was hungry, baby. And besides, the way you kept moaning and all--”</p><p>[<em>Too much like John?</em> <em>Lazy like Lennon?</em> Does he have John Lennon on the brain? Your mind gives that a pass.] “In my experience, James Paul McCartney doesn’t need to be hungry in order to be bitey… is that…” [glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you slip into a robe] “I knew it! I <em>knew</em> you were biting my ass! You said you weren’t! Are you telling me that’s a ‘love-tender’, too?”</p><p>“No, love, that’s clearly a <em>bite</em>. So much cheekiness, I couldn’t help, you know…” [Gives you a shaming look] “After all, I was so, so hungry…”</p><p>“My ass is <em>not</em> overly cheeky!”</p><p>[Gurgles at you, eyes bright] “Alright, have it your way, darlin’. After all I’ve already had it my way. Twice.”</p><p>[You sigh, because <em>yeah</em>.]</p><p>***</p><p>[In the kitchen, finally] “Would you like bananas in your porridge?”</p><p>“Haven’t you had enough banana in your porridge this morning, love?”</p><p>“You’re such a filthy pig. I thought Lennon couldn’t stop with the sex jokes but you’re just as bad, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Gosh, you’re cranky when you’ve spent the morning having bananas put into your porridge. You need to eat something. I have an idea…”</p><p>“Stop! I’m not having more sex with you. I’m not eating or chewing or mouthing anything on you! I want real food. I need sustenance! I’ve been ruthlessly used and left unattended! ”</p><p>“Ah, so ‘going unattended’ sounds like <em>‘Yes! Yes! Oh, Paul!’</em> I’ll have to remember that. In the meantime, my baby, I actually was being very serious about offering you the fruit but look.” [Holds up three terribly overripe bananas] “They’ve gone all black!”</p><p>“Crap. Why can’t I keep a banana for more than two days?”</p><p>[Wiggles eyebrows] “You don’t store them in a warm dark place enough, love.”</p><p>[Threateningly] “I swear to God, Paul!”</p><p>“Alright, alright. Where’s the rubbish bin, then? I’ll toss them.”</p><p>“No, you can’t!”</p><p>“What, now? We can’t eat ‘em?”</p><p>“Yes we can! Weren’t you a boy scout?”</p><p>“Aye, I was, me and my brother.”</p><p>“Well, then you know not to waste food, right? These can be the basis for a great banana-nut loaf.”</p><p>[Smiles hugely] “Bananas and nuts? Now who can’t stop the sex jokes? <em>You’re</em> as bad as Lennon!”</p><p>[You give him a look]</p><p>“Alright, alright. Let’s make a… tasty loaf for brekkie, then. I’ll help! Tell me what to do and I’ll follow your orders like a... whatsit, a soup-chef!”</p><p>“A sous chef.”</p><p>“Right, that’s what I said. What shall I do, baby? C’mon, order me around a little. I might <em>like</em> that.”</p><p>[Skeptical but willing] “Please. You're the biggest control freak this side of the Atlantic. But okay. Put those in a bowl and mash ‘em up with a fork and I’ll grease the loafpan.”</p><p>“Oh, God… you’re gonna <em>grease</em> the <em>loafpan</em>? Baby, don’t make promises you don’t mean.”</p><p>[Pressing lips together. Counting to five....] “Are you done?”</p><p>“Yes. For now.” [Smiles at you irresistibly] “I can’t promise that because I won’t mean it.”</p><p>[Giving him a bowl and fork] “You are insufferable.”</p><p>“And you love that about me…”</p><p>[Ignoring that because, again, <em>yeah</em>.]</p><p>“I suppose you’re going to want me to peel these things before I fork them?”</p><p>[Snorting as you suppress a laugh.] “That would be the general idea. You can’t fork ‘em with jackets on.”</p><p>“You’ve never been to Hamburg in winter, love. We were forking all about with our jackets on, me and John …”</p><p>“I don’t want to hear this.”</p><p>“Aye, we got into a lot of forking trouble, John and I! Still do, you know. We fork around, all the time!”</p><p>[You groan, wondering why all of your conversations eventually come back to Paul and John. But he is a big part of Paul’s life, right?]</p><p>[Paul’s prattling on.]  “I remember how one cold night in Hamburg, John and I hooked up in an alleyway with these two beauties…”</p><p>“Ohh, I know I don’t want to hear this.”</p><p>“And that’s all they kept saying. All anyone could hear for blocks around was… well, it sounded a little like you being ‘unattended’. Just sounds of them crying out <em>‘Ja! Ja! Mein Gott, Paul! Ja! Johann! Ja!’</em> But then suddenly they’d be yelling, ‘<em>Nein! Nein! Es ist fuckin’ freezin’ out! Ich bin ein icicle! Nein, keep on the jacket und trage ein Kondom!</em> As if a condom could make anything warmer…”</p><p>[Laughing hard.] “You’re making that up!”</p><p>“I’m not. John and I got into some raw stuff in Hamburg. And raw weather, too! Raw everything. We liked it raw! Okay, okay, the bananas are mushed up, now what?”</p><p>[You break three eggs into the bowl.] “Mix some more. Let me see you really beat it…”</p><p>[He gives you the big flirty eyes] “I never really beat it unless I’m alone, darlin…”</p><p>“I swear to God, Paul!”</p><p>“Alright, alright, is this good? It’s all frothy. I know you like it <em>frothy…”</em></p><p>[You briefly cover your face in exasperation and then bring over a tray of dry ingredients.] “Here. I’ll chop walnuts and you can measure out a teaspoon of baking soda and a teaspoon of cinnamon and a half teaspoon of baking powder.”</p><p>“Measure a what, now? A teaspoon?”</p><p>“Yyyesss…”</p><p>[Picks up a spoon from his teacup] “How many milliliters is that?”</p><p>“<em>What</em>, now?”</p><p>“I don’t know how much a teaspoon is. Is this a Yank recipe? Don’t love Yank food, you know.”</p><p>[You stop chopping] “Are you a <em>bigot?”</em></p><p>“What? No! Well… don’t love America, you know. Tea’s awful. Food’s awful. Journalists are awful. Also, they don’t use the freakin’ metric system, do they?”</p><p>“This is a very tasty recipe, even if it is American, okay? Just… just use your teaspoon and measure it out.”</p><p>“I’ll measure you out.”</p><p>“Not after we eat this bread, you won’t.” [You offer him a shelled walnut.] “Here, have some brain food.”</p><p>[Accepts walnut, but gives you a funny look.]</p><p>“My granny told me that before science, people would see what food looked like, and that would tell them what it benefited.”</p><p>“What’d you say your granny was? French? Finnish?”</p><p>[You give him a good glare] “Scots-Irish and stuff. Be nice. Anyway, so to that way of thinking beans were good for the kidneys, because that’s what they were shaped like, right? And cauliflower and walnuts look like brains, so they were brain-food, okay? Beets were good for the heart and the blood, and so on…”</p><p>“Hey, that’s interesting. Makes sense, sort of, too.” [Thinks a minute] “What happened with the carrots, though? How’d they become ‘good for the eyes’ when they look more like--”</p><p>“Don’t say it!”</p><p>[Smiles, looks down at the bowl. Mutters…] “You know I’m right.”</p><p>[You measure out the flour] “Okay, here. Pour in the flour and then mix it up, and then pour in the chopped walnuts.”</p><p>[Pretending the mix is too thick] “This is a lot of work! Let’s not let the bananas go brown anymore, okay? I could starve to death!”</p><p>“You’re an infant. Here, mix this in next.”</p><p>“What’s this funny stuff, now?”</p><p>“Chocolate. You’ve had chocolate chip cookies, yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>“These are morsels, like in those cookies. Pour them in. They’re just for nice.”</p><p>[Looks at you suspiciously. Takes one morsel and eats it.] “Oh! That’s good. Kind of bittersweet!”</p><p>“Yes. They’re semi-sweet.”</p><p>[Eats a few more.] “I like ‘em. I like it semi-sweet.”</p><p>[Smiling] “Well that’s why you love me, because I’m semi-sweet, too!”</p><p>[Everything gets very silent. He pours them in and stirs. Oh, CRAP. You just told him he loves you. That’s not good. That’s not good. Paul doesn’t use those words. You should not presume. There is silence. It’s too much silence. You’re gonna die from all the silence.]</p><p>[Hands you the bowl] “Well, that’s finished, then.”</p><p>“No! Not finished! Please! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it came out…”</p><p>“What? It’s all yellow and nice-smelling and stuff.”</p><p>
  <em>“What?” </em>
</p><p>“What? What’s the matter, love you’re all flushed. Are you sick?”</p><p>[You exhale. He must not have heard you.] “No…nuthin’. Nuthin’”</p><p>“Noth<em>ing</em>, with a g. Don’t fall in love with my bad Liverpudlian habits, love.”</p><p>“I…” [Gulp] “I won’t. Fall…”</p><p>[Wide eyed, leaning across the table] “Can I lick it?”</p><p>[You jump, nearly overturning the loaf pan as you fill] “What?”</p><p>“The bowl. Only, my mum used to always let me use my finger to clean the bowl when she baked…”</p><p>“What a surprise, you liked to put your finger in your mouth, even with raw batter on it…”</p><p>“Well, I told you about how raw we got in Hamburg. And you know…fingers…they’re delicious no matter what ya stick 'em in, aren’t they?”</p><p>[You shake your head and chuckle, passing the bowl to him. He immediately starts dipping his fingers along the bowl and licking them, completely enthralled. You’re plotzing because he’s so cute.]</p><p>“So how long?” [He asks, as he continues]</p><p>“How long ‘til the loaf is baked? Not long enough for another round in bed, if that’s what you’re thinking…”</p><p>“No, love.” [He offers you a finger full of banana bread batter, and you take it all in.] “I meant, how long have <em>I loved that</em> about you, you saucy, semi-sweet morsel?”</p><p>[Gulp. Choke. Accidentally bite down on his finger.]</p><p>“Hey now, I need that you know! Can’t play a bass without m’fingers!”</p><p>[You look down, guiltily] “Sorry, sorry! I… I didn’t really mean that, you know. It just… came out wrong. Like… you know an automatic sort of… reflexive-like… joke.”</p><p>“Oh.” [He goes to the sink to wash the bowl.] “Too bad.”</p><p>[You watch him work. Now you’re dying because <em>what did you just do?</em> You hold your breath.] “Too bad what?”</p><p>[He ignores you. <em>Shit!</em>]</p><p>“Paul? What’s too bad? Too bad <em>what?”</em></p><p>[He turns to you, lifts you up, gives you a big, wet kiss and squeezes your backside.] “Nuthin’ baby. I’d have just said ‘you’re right’ if you’d meant it. But since you were just jokin’…”</p><p>“Wait…Paulie…”</p><p>[Looks at you very seriously] “What?”</p><p>[Looking back, suddenly feeling very shy and uncertain.] “It’s <em>ing,</em> you know. Noth<em>ing</em>. Jok<em>ing</em>.”</p><p>“Ah…” [Sadly] “So, good correct<em>ing, </em>sweet. I needn’t have worried about you fallin’ in love with me Liverpudlian ways, then.”</p><p>[You’re sadly back] “But I could you know…if…if you wouldn’t <em>mind</em> it.”</p><p>“Mind what, baby?”</p><p>“Well, you know… if you didn’t mind it so much… I could, sort of… fall in love with… <em>that.</em> What you said.”</p><p>[Bites his lips, smiles shyly back] “Oh, yeah?”</p><p>[Gulp.] “Yeah. Seems… innocent enough.”</p><p>[Considers a minute. Kisses your forehead] “Yeah, I guess. But that would probably mean…”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Well…” [Kisses your cheek] “That would kind of be like me… loving the semi-sweet, yeah? Just kind of… innocent-like? Kind of nice and simple? A small thing, like that?”</p><p>[You breath it out] “Yeahhhhh. Just like that. A small thing.”</p><p>[Moves in for a nice, romantic kiss. Brings it with a big hug.] “I could like that, darlin'. A nice, simple, small thing like that…”</p><p>“Yeahhhh, so could I. Of course, Paul… just because it’s nice, and simple doesn’t mean it’s <em>small…”</em></p><p>“Oh you filthy little…” [Pulls back, looks at you smiling.] “I <em>swear to God</em>, you!”</p>
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